


The Devil John Knows and the One Bane Doesn’t

by grizzly_bear_bane



Series: John the Devil's Martyr [2]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: American Revolution, BAMF John, Bane is 18th Century Heathcliff, Edgeplay, Insanely Jealous Bane, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Spies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 02:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grizzly_bear_bane/pseuds/grizzly_bear_bane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that John's got Bane as his captive, he thinks he's in control this time. He's pleasantly surprised, though Bane is anything but amused by John's antics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil John Knows and the One Bane Doesn’t

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tamat9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamat9/gifts).



> In celebration of your good day, I'm brining this one back! <333

++++

+

 

John was covered in blood. His knees were weak, his stride swaying to the side every so often, as he stepped over bodies and dirt gouged up by cannonballs. He was deaf in his right ear now—that was sure, though it didn’t quell his love of the pretty British cannons his militiamen seized today.

“There you are,” he muttered with satisfaction when he reached the soldier who’d tried to spear him with a bayonet earlier. With a smug smile, he wrestled the rifle out of the man’s cold dead hands and appraised his new weapon.

A dark-skinned boy not much older than he with a bandage covering his neck jogged over. “Blake, we got a couple redcoats and hessians in old Mr. Thompson’s barn. What should we do with them?”

“Allow all but the captains to take a walk,” John ordered, cleaning soot from the other’s cheek with his bloody handkerchief. “Also, tell the others boys to tend to the wounded and collect more of these,” he handed him the rifle, “for the stockpile, but save this one for me.” He turned and hiked down the trampled field to the large barn at the edge of the woods, a rotten smirk growing on his face.

Outside its old wooden door, he tied up his hair and paused to dump his head and hands in a pail of water—his way of washing up and looking more presentable.

The door closed behind him with a loud thud. John couldn’t help but skip to the two remaining captives. Even with sacks over their heads and their hands tied behind their backs, it was obvious that his men had snagged two very fine prizes.

“Mr. Crane,” he greeted, “what a surprise this is. You’ll have to forgive my dishevelment; today, as I’m sure you can understand, has left me with no time to even comb my hair. What a shame too, after you’ve given me and my men so many lovely gifts today. The rifles, the horses, the carriage what survived the fire, the cannons… your _boots_ …” he paused to admired them before yanking them off of Crane’s feet and putting them on, happy that they fit him just fine. Crane couldn’t even respond; the barefoot man was so piping mad.

“And Bane,” John turned appraising the look of the hulking man bound on his knees, dwarfing Crane. What a sight. “So, we meet again. Did you miss me?”

Bane’s anger simmered at the mere thought of being bound, but he didn’t miss the little sliver, the whisper of sincerity in his captive’s – he bristled at the word – voice when he asked that question. “Indeed. I miss feeling you tremble under my hands as I tortured your lovely flesh.” Bane had no doubt that John knew just what he’d meant by that. He could feel John circling him, a caress of a hand across his shoulders. He had hoped that John would take the sack off his head, but John was high on adrenaline and preening his feathers, so to speak. He would allow the boy to have his fun for now.

John chuckled quietly. “Still marveling over my incredible escape?” He ran his fingers in a massaging pattern over the back of Bane’s head through the covering. “I do apologize, Mr. Crane—”

“—It’s _Captain_ Crane to you, you filthy heathen scum!” Crane barked, at last finding his voice. He missed John’s flat glare and the fact that John had to grip Bane’s shoulder to keep the man from attacking Crane and revealing their secret.

“ _Mr_. Crane,” John continued, wanting nothing than to see the man burn. “I know how much it must have pained you to see me go.”

“I swear, I won’t make the same mistake twice,” Crane sneered, “I swear to God you will disintegrate in the palm of my _fist_ , Blake!”

John ignored Crane’s rant for the most part. He quietly sank to his knees beside Bane, lifting the sack only an inch to run his nose over the man’s neck. He drew back, but Bane could feel John’s hands wandering lower, the last three buttons on his waistcoat opening along with the top two on his trousers.

Crane’s words faltered when Bane growled. “Bane? What is he doing? What’s happened? I swear to God, Blake if you—”

John smiled, his face pressed to Bane’s neck again as he slipped his hand into Bane’s pants, feeling the man harden under his careful stroking. Bane, to John’s pleasure as he stroked him in earnest, remained perfectly still, the only sign that his touch registered were the low growls rumbling from his chest. Crane was positively clueless, frightened, in spite of his bravado, over the prospect of what a madman like John could be doing to his best mercenary.

John hummed, distractedly. “Yes, Mr. Crane, tell me again your threats. What torture would you lay on me first, if I were in your shoes—oh but, wait,” he withdrew his hand and stood, lapping at the precome on his palm, “I _am_ in your shoes,” he observed, “and still, it is I who has you practically hogtied like the pig you are.”

Crane snarled. John returned to his knees to stroke Bane again. “Have you ever been at the mercy of another before, Bane?”  He squeezed the head of Bane’s cock, coaxing more and more until Bane finally bucked his hips once. John smiled brightly, sensing that the man was close again to spilling. He withdrew his hand.

Bane chuckled, voice rough and impossibly low. “No one has ever dared. Even brick and mortar couldn’t hold me, young Blake. You hardly stand a chance.”

John returned his hand, repeating the process until Bane neared a climax and pulled away again, loving how tense Bane was in his restraints. He wanted to come so badly when John stroked again, but John wouldn’t allow it. “I’ll hold you to that, then.” To Bane’s internal dismay, John withdrew his hand again, righting Bane’s clothes, and stood.

“Yes, Bane,” Crane ordered, “Kill him. Do not hesitate. I don’t give a damn if you have to chase him off the continent, do it and kill him.”

John pulled the sack from Bane’s head. “But Mr. Crane, who then would _you_ chase…and pine for…and _obsess_ over when I’m dead.” At Bane inquisitive stare, John turned to Crane, removing his sack as well.

Crane’s face was beet red with fury. He eyed John with pure contempt. “You are a thorn in my side,” he responded. “Nothing more.”

But John was circling him now, trailing the same hand he’d had around Bane’s cock through Crane silky brown hair. “Am I?”

He kept his eyes on Bane who still watched John, unsure of the American’s motives. “You mustn’t lie like a little boy with his hand caught in his trousers. My men gave me the letters you’d written, when they commandeered Lord Michael’s carriage. I remember reading that you wanted me tamed? With a chain around my neck and little else on my body but the welts from your beatings.” John smiled when Bane’s eyes finally left his.

Bane stared at Crane as if he’d already killed Crane and yearned to do it again. Crane’s eyes were on a haystack in the corner as he tried to ignore both men.

John's smile widen, triumphant in the wake of Crane’s humiliation and Bane’s growing rage.

+


End file.
